


the day the world went away

by Neurotoxia



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s06e16 Last Day on Earth, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Illnesses, M/M, Offscreen character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: Jesus gaze gets sidetracked by Abraham emerging from the back of the RV, half supporting, half carrying a man with a blood-soaked blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It takes him a second to realise that the crumpled, sluggish figure is Daryl and it’s as if a block of ice suddenly dropped into his stomach.After witnessing Glenn’s brutal death at the hands of Negan, the group seeks refuge at the Hilltop.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic sat on my hard drive about 98% finished for close to a year. I wrote it immediately after the season six finale, got sidetracked by something else and procrastinated coming back to this fic for so long that suddenly, season seven started and jossed it. In light of that, I wrote it off as a failure and didn't touch it again until recently when I was told in no uncertain terms that having 6000 nearly finished words just rotting in the ether is a waste of a decent story.
> 
> After some scrubbing and cleaning, here we are, a take on what could have followed 'Last Day on Earth'. It's an amalgamation of speculation based on the comics and my own ideas at the time. There's some almost eerie overlap in the speeches that Rick and Maggie give in this fic with things they've said on the show in the last few episodes, but I did actually write those parts nearly a year ago. Glenn still had his appointment with Lucille though, I'm sorry to say.
> 
> Many thanks to crookedspoon who kicked me in the butt just hard enough to post this despite being way off and who helped making it presentable. As usual, comments and kudos are balm for my soul.

Although the wind   
blows terribly here,   
the moonlight also leaks   
between the roof planks   
of this ruined house.  
\- Shikibu Izumi

Something isn’t right. 

It’s a shift in the air, a sudden tilt on the axis that Jesus can almost physically grasp. The fine hairs on the back of his neck raise as if a ghost passed by. He has been sitting outside around Hilltop’s big fireplace with a whole flock of people, roasting leftover bread dough on sticks over the fire. The night has been less tense than the others, Jesus’ fears about the Saviors having subsided somewhat. He’s been expecting them to come knocking the gates down at any moment. Ever since Carol’s and Maggie’s kidnapping, he isn’t sure whether Alexandria’s managed to eliminate all of them. They may have more posts than that old satellite bunker. Daryl thinks so, too -- he admitted as much once, in the dead of the night when they’d been sprawled on the bed side by side with only the moonlight streaming in through the open window. Jesus was half asleep at that point, but he heard Daryl -- that maybe they hadn’t gotten them all. He’s kept mum about it when he got back; there’s a chance that they have no idea that Hilltop was involved and he’s not inclined to set Gregory off into a panicked frenzy.

Tara and Heath have accompanied him again, planning to go on another run beyond Hilltop, having found a Walmart off a highway that isn’t completely overrun and still well-stocked. All three of them had left Alexandria with a strange feeling in their gut. Never before had Jesus told Daryl to be safe, considering it an empty phrase in the apocalypse, but he’s had the impulse this time. Tara too mentioned on the way that she’s found it harder to say goodbye to Denise. Heath had mostly muttered to himself vaguely, but his face varied between pensive and pinched the entire drive. The two planned to stay in Hilltop for a few days, going back and forth between the shop and Hilltop with anything useful they could find. Today has been a good day, they cleared out a whole store of kid’s clothing, something Hilltop hasn’t had enough of for a while. The children grow like weeds and more babies are born. Tara wants to take a few things back for Judith, and Jesus has snuck a couple of flannels Even Gregory splurged and relinquished a bottle of whiskey for the group around the fire. The really cheap stuff, but Jesus isn’t about to complain when Gregory finds himself in a generous mood.

“Get the gates!” Kal shouts from where he’s perched on the wall, gesticulating wildly to the men walking past on the ground. His voice has taken on a hectic tone.

“What the hell?” Gregory mutters and gets up from his deck chair.

“Who is it?” Shirley shouts to the gates from where she’s seated next to Tara.

“Alexandria,” Kal yells back while others pull open the gates to reveal the headlights of the RV.

“What are they doing here?” Heath asks Tara, both of their faces gone pale with surprise. Jesus wonders the same.

Why would they make the trip in the dead of the night with so many people? They only take the RV when the group’s too big for one of the vans. Rick has been adamant about keeping as many people in Alexandria as possible with the uncertainty about the Saviors. The darkness makes it impossible to see through the windshield who’s inside, but Jesus gets up when the RV comes to a shaky halt halfway to the house and the door is thrown open and bangs against the side of the vehicle.

Rick practically flies out the vehicle, storming up to a surprised Gregory who finds himself nearly slammed into the floor by sheer force of Rick’s grip.

“Shit,” Jesus curses and races over as yet more people file out of the RV. He can see the outline of Michonne supporting a slumped, shaking figure. Is that Maggie?

“Get Harlan!” he calls back over his shoulder, hearing several pair of feet set into motion.

The shouting match between Rick and Gregory is already well on its way to escalating and Jesus is actually afraid Rick might draw a weapon any second. He hasn’t seen him that livid, that crazed, ever. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, sending us to the Saviors when they have a whole army?!” Rick shouts and Jesus sees him go for the colt at his side.

“Rick!” Jesus barrels between them and shoves Rick back. If Rick shot Gregory, hell would break loose. 

Something seems to have broken in Rick, the fight has gone out him like air out of punctured balloon. His face is ashen grey, he’s sweating and shaking as if he’s going into shock. What the hell is going on?

“Negan and his men, they-- we were on the road, Maggie, she’s-- the baby. He’s got a whole army, hundreds maybe, and he--” Rick stammers, unable to finish a sentence.

“You saw Negan?” Gregory asks, baffled.

“Yes, we--”

“Oh god, so he’s real,” Jesus whispers, feeling dread seep into his bones. Like Alexandria, Jesus has suspected Negan might only be a boogeyman the Saviors made up to frighten Hilltop and anyone else into compliance.

“We didn’t know he had this many men,” Gregory whimpers, fear and shock evident in his voice. “None of us have ever seen Negan.”

“It’s true, Rick,” Jesus says, trying to keep his voice calm. “I swear. We thought there were maybe fifty of them. I didn’t think Negan was even real.”

“Yeah, tell that to Glenn,” Rick laughs and it sounds so hollow that Jesus’ throat closes up. Does that mean...?

Jesus turns his head towards the RV where chaos has erupted, people trying to help the erratic Alexandrians. From the medical trailer, Jesus can see Harlan come running towards Maggie. But Jesus gaze gets sidetracked by Abraham emerging from the back of the RV, half supporting, half carrying a man with a blood-soaked blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It takes him a second to realise that the crumpled, sluggish figure is Daryl and it’s as if a block of ice suddenly dropped into his stomach.

“Daryl,” he gasps and abandones Rick and Gregory, sprinting over to Abraham who tries to drag Daryl into the direction of the medical trailer with little help from the man himself.

As he looks upon the picture of Daryl practically hanging onto Abraham, throat, clothes and dirty blanket soaked in what was no doubt his own blood, Jesus feels the colour drain from his face. Daryl isn’t coherent, he’s shivering and deathly pale from the blood loss.

“What happened?” Jesus whispers, wanting to help Abraham, but not daring to touch Daryl’s injured side.

“Shot,” Abraham says and offers no more than that. His face is stoic, but there’s something in his eyes that speaks of shock. Abraham was a soldier, Jesus guesses he’s on autopilot just trying to get things done without contributing to the chaos around him.

“Can I help?” Jesus asks, fingers itching to do _something._

“I’m good,” Abraham says. “Can’t say the same about Daryl here. Where to?”

“Bertie!” Jesus shouts, trying to get her attention while she’s steadying a pale but unharmed Sasha a couple of yards away. Harlan will be busy with Maggie, but Bertie assists Harlan, maybe she can help. She has to.

She looks up and scurries over. “Oh lord,” she exclaims. “Bring him over to medical, put him in Harlan’s place, quick.”

 

It takes hours before the chaos has died down and an eerie silence has settled in its place instead. Bertie took care of Daryl while Harlan was still trying to save Maggie and the baby, staunching the bloodflow and cleaning the wound until the doctor could patch him up. Jesus sat in a corner of the trailer, feeling more useless than ever in his life.

Now Jesus watches the twilight bleeding into sunrise through the windows and feels oddly empty. Maggie and the baby are safe, physically. But in the last few hours, Jesus has learnt what happened to Glenn, saw Abraham and Aaron take his body wrapped in bloodied sheets from the RV. Hearing how it happened, the random cruelty of it makes Jesus gag whenever he thinks of it. Gregory has herded the rest of Alexandria into the house, all of them near dropping with exhaustion, but Jesus hasn’t been able to detach himself from Daryl’s side and look after them. 

For the moment, Daryl is stable and Harlan thinks there might be no lasting damage to his shoulder and arm -- if he survives. Daryl has lost so much blood, it’s anyone’s guess whether he will pull through. Every couple minutes, Jesus holds an unsteady hand under Daryl’s nose to see if he’s still breathing. It’s faint but it’s there. 

The sun is almost up when Harlan slips into the trailer again, checking Daryl’s vitals.

“How’s Maggie?” Jesus asks and rubs his eyes. He can feel the exhaustion creep up on him, but he doesn’t dare to go into the house and sleep.

“Medically speaking, fine,” Harlan replies and checks his watch while he holds Daryl’s wrist. “So’s the baby.”

Jesus nods and hums in a sort of agreeing noise. No need to speak about Maggie’s state of mind.

“I gave her something to help her sleep,” Harlan explains further and lifts Daryl’s bandage with nimble fingers. “You know, you should get some sleep, too, Jesus. Somebody else can sit with him for a while. I don’t expect him to come to for some time yet.”

_If_ he comes to, even if Harlan doesn’t say it. “I’m fine,” Jesus mutters. “I can just take a nap here. Slept in worse places.”

“Okay,” Harlan says and Jesus is grateful the man doesn’t try and argue with him about it. “I’ll have someone bring you coffee later.”

“Thanks,” Jesus says and Harlan clasps his shoulder as he retreads from the trailer.

He tries to settle more comfortably in his folding chair to attempt a nap after all. It can’t be worse than sitting around and staring at Daryl’s chest the whole time to see if it’s still rising. Jesus doesn’t dare take Daryl’s hand -- what if it’s cold and lifeless? He couldn’t stand that, not when Daryl is usually so alive.

 

Jesus is woken from his restless nap an hour later by Sasha who carries two steaming cups and looks as tired as Jesus feels. Not that Jesus thinks that he looks any better, but there’s no mirror to confirm the suspicion. 

“How is he?” Sasha asks and holds out one cup for Jesus. It emanates beautiful smell of strong coffee which is a godsend. They ration their coffee for the time being, but the kitchens must have realised that today of all days demands coffee.

Jesus shrugs and takes a sip, coffee burning the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t care. “He hasn’t woken up yet. It’s anyone’s guess with that much blood loss.”

“I hope he makes it,” Sasha sighs, voice subdued. “I’m not sure we can take him dying too. Not after Glenn...” Her jaw clenches.

“He’s a fighter,” Jesus says, unsure whether he’s trying to give Sasha hope or if he’s talking to himself. Both, maybe.

“Let’s hope he wants to fight,” she says and leaves the trailer again.

 

It’s another four hours of waiting, the monotony only broken up by others checking in for a moment before Daryl finally moves. Jesus nearly knocks his chair over when he shoots up to be at Daryl’s side. He’s muttering a string of incomprehensible words while Jesus dabs the wet cloth that’s been resting in a bowl of water over Daryl’s forehead. Harlan gave him something to bring down the fever but Daryl’s body has to work through the rest of it. The long strands of hair cling to Daryl’s temples and neck and Jesus detangles them with gentle fingers. He has no idea if Daryl hears him -- he doesn’t appear to be all there -- but he speaks to him all the same, telling him that he’s safe and that everyone is okay. The latter is an exaggeration, frankly, but Daryl doesn’t need to hear that Maggie and Rick got into a shouting match just an hour before. Jesus hasn’t found out yet what it was about, the two of them too far away to understand the words but he didn’t want to interfere. Some of the things they’re going through now, they have to work out on their own.

 

The sun is settling low in the late afternoon when Rick shows up inside the trailer, carrying a bowl of steaming something. Rick’s face is still haggard and grey, but the utter brokenness has disappeared from his eyes. It’s been replaced by cold determination.

“Bertie told me to give you this,” Rick says and hands Jesus the bowl. It’s bean and carrot stew and now that he smells it, his stomach starts to protest the lack of food in the last eighteen hours.

“Thanks,” Jesus says and takes a mouthful. “Completely forgot to eat.”

“You don’t have to sit with him all day,” Rick says. “One of us can take over.”

“It’s fine -- makes me feel less useless,” Jesus sighs and stirs the thin stew. Not that he’s actually being useful, but he feels more equipped to sit at Daryl’s bedside than deal with the grief outside.

“Can’t see anyone call you useless,” Rick replies and sits down on a second chair. “How’s Daryl? I just realised I haven’t even checked on him.”

Jesus throws Rick a sympathetic glance. “You’ve had other things on your mind.”

“Still, Daryl’s my brother…”

“So was Glenn,” Jesus says, voice quiet. He hadn’t known Glenn that well yet, but from what he’s seen, Glenn was close to everyone in the group. He was approachable and kind.

“Glenn saved my life, you know,” Rick says and Jesus wishes he could do something to make that brokenness disappear from his voice. “I wouldn’t even be here without him. Back when this all started. I was alone, looking for my wife and Carl -- nearly got myself killed in Atlanta cause I didn’t know what I was doing. Glenn saved me, a total stranger, when he didn’t have to. Got my family back because of him. I owe him everything. And he died cause I thought I had it all figured out.”

“It’s not your fault, Rick. You didn’t order your people to go against Negan.” Jesus spoons some stew into his mouth. Despite feeling hungry, he has no appetite.

“These people made me their leader,” Rick insists, his voice urgent like has to say these words out loud to someone and knows he can’t put it on the shoulders of someone closer to the tragedy. “They trust me to make the right decisions. Or to support what I think is the right decision.”

“And you did what you thought was the right decision,” Jesus says and scapes his spoon against the bottom of the bowl, attempting to fish out a piece of carrot. He understands the weight of responsibility; so many at Hilltop rely on him every day when he goes out to scout and scavenge. To have everyone trust him with their lives and lead them in the right direction, Jesus doesn’t think he could do that.

“Doesn’t feel ‘right’,” Rick sighs and wipes a hand over his eyes. “One of my brothers is dead and another is barely holding on.”

“He’ll make it,” Jesus says and doesn’t allow himself to contemplate the alternative.

“I don’t want to leave him here, but we need to go back after we bury Glenn tomorrow.” Rick’s jaw is set. “We have no idea what’s going on at home, I don’t even want to think about what’s happening if the Saviors attacked Alexandria.”

Jesus puts his half-eaten bowl aside, not hungry any longer. “We’ll look after Daryl.”

“I know,” Rick mutters. “Maggie wants to stay, too.”

“Might be a good idea with the pregnancy,” Jesus suggests carefully. “If she’s already had complications, she should stay close to a doctor.” He doesn’t want to upset Rick any further, but even if the incident with the Saviors hadn’t happened, Harlan might have put the idea forward anyway.

“Still feels like losing her, too.”

Jesus doesn’t know what to say to that, retreating back into silence alongside Rick.

 

The next morning, after another restless night in the chair, Laila from the kitchen crew kicks him out of the trailer to give him time to take a shower and go to Glenn’s funeral. 

Jesus doesn’t put up much of a fight, grateful for the break even though he doesn’t want to leave Daryl. He’s woken up a few times during the night, but still isn’t coherent. The fever hasn’t gone higher, but not broken either. The constant limbo is wearying. 

Jesus allows himself an extra five minutes under the hot shower, letting the stream work his stiff neck muscles. He’s pulled a black henley and a pair of black cargo trousers from his pile of clothes. Not that anyone particularly cares what you wear for a funeral these days, but this one is important. It’s going to have an impact on both communities. He doesn’t want to look like he’s wearing himself thin -- people rely on him having his head sit on straight, but there isn’t much he can do about the shadows under his eyes. Perhaps the others are already wondering why he’s spending day and night at the bedside of Alexandria’s most standoffish inhabitant, but Jesus can’t bring himself to care about that too. 

The funeral is terse silence nearly all the way through. As most others from Hilltop, Jesus hangs back, letting Glenn’s family have some space. Maggie insisted on having Glenn buried at Hilltop, Rick wanted him in Alexandria, but gave in to Maggie’s wishes in the end. It’s likely what their shouting yesterday has been about, but Maggie is nonetheless holding onto Rick’s hand like it’s the only thing anchoring her to earth. Hilltop usually cremate their dead, but Rick’s group wanted a burial. Once Abraham steps forward to speak some words about Glenn, Jesus breaks away from the group. He feels like an intruder and hasn’t yet managed to shake the gnawing doubt that he too is one of the contributing factors that put Glenn six feet under.

“You eat the rest of that stew, Paul,” Laila commands as he relieves her of her watch over Daryl. She is one of the few who refuse to call him by his nickname -- says unless he starts turning water to wine she’s gonna keep calling him Paul. She points one of her fingers at the bowl with the half eaten dinner on the nightstand and levels her stern gaze at Jesus. Daryl would like her. She’s a no-nonsense woman and they’d bond over their disdain for his nickname. Daryl thinks ‘Jesus’ is ridiculous.

“Aye,” Jesus sighs. Laila may be over sixty and only reach up to his nose, but she’s a fiend with the butcher knife.

“No need to starve yourself over this one,” she says and pats him on the shoulder. “The Lord’ll let him live if his time hasn’t come yet.”

“Mhm,” Jesus hums in a tone that’s neither agreement or disagreement and puts his palm on Daryl’s forehead. Still warm. Laila’s steadfast hold onto her faith has to be admired. Jesus hasn’t grown up in a religious home, never gone to church except for funerals. There’s a small congregation at Hilltop who meet for prayer on Sundays, but most who used to be religious have given up on it.

“Chin up, boy,” she says and strides over to the door. “He ain’t dead yet.”

 

Jesus steps back outside for a moment when Rick’s group piles back into the RV to go back to Alexandria, Gregory sending two men behind them in a van as an extra backup. They don’t think Negan will try anything on the road -- he’s made his statement, but Gregory wants to show his support and for once, Jesus agrees with his decision. Who knows how long it’ll last.

He’s in the middle of changing Daryl’s bandage, cleaning the caked wound and the angry red tissue around it, when the man wakes again and for the first time, his eyes focus. Jesus holds his breath.

“Wha-- “ Daryl croaks and struggles to sit up, but Jesus puts a hand on his chest to hold him down.

“Don’t,” he says and lifts his palm once he feels the pressure against it give. He grabs his glass of water from the nightstand and the straw that’s been sitting next to it -- foresight on Bertie’s part. “Sip, and be careful.”

Daryl ends up coughing, but manages to get some water down.

“You’re at Hilltop. I don’t know if you still remember that you made it here,” Jesus explains and moves a few matted strands of hair out of Daryl’s eyes. “You’ve been knocked out for two days.”

“Glenn,” Daryl mutters and Jesus has to hold him down again.

“Stay down, Daryl. Please,” Jesus begs. He knows it’s unlikely Daryl would be able to even sit up, but Harlan warned him not to let Daryl strain himself if he came to. You lost so much blood and we haven’t got any transfusions. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

While regaining consciousness is a good sign, it’s no all-clear. 

“Shoulda let my sorry ass die,” Daryl grunts but mercifully doesn’t try to get up again.

“Don’t say that,” Jesus hisses and helps Daryl drink a few more sips.

“‘s my fault,” Daryl slurs. “Glenn.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Jesus asserts and runs the damp cloth over Daryl’s head again. Daryl attempts to bat away his hand, but lets his arm fall back onto the mattress with a pained groan.

“Came after me,” Daryl mutters. “Cause I was behavin’ like an asshole. My fault they took ‘im.”

Daryl’s voice is that of a broken man. It’s like stabbing a needle into Jesus heart. “It’s Negan’s fault. No one else’s.” Jesus doesn’t actually think the message will sink in yet, but he’ll repeat it as often as he needs to. Until Daryl believes it. “Just focus on getting better. Your family needs you to get well. I need you to get well.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be gettin’ better,” Daryl says under his breath, already on his way back to losing consciousness. “Can’t hurt nobody if I’m dead.”

Jesus takes a steadying breath and looks out of the window, away from Daryl who’s fallen asleep again. His throat has closed up, but he wills himself to focus. Daryl is what counts now. Perhaps Jesus can’t even begin to comprehend the pain and guilt Daryl feels, he can’t take the weight of it off Daryl’s shoulders, but he has to believe he can help him ease it. If he lets him.

 

The next day, Harlan and Bertie manhandle him out of the trailer for the night, telling him to get some ‘proper’ sleep before they knock him out with a sedative and drag him into the mansion. Jesus only relinquishes his spot at Daryl’s bedside after they promise to come get him straight away if anything changes.

Sleeping in a bed again is refreshing enough that Jesus falls asleep as soon as his back hits the mattress, thankfully not dreaming of the countless horrors he’s been seeing before his inner eye lately.

The next morning he’s embarrassed to realise that for the first time in years he’s slept in, the sun sits high on the horizon and he can hear the usual bustle of activity going on outside, muffled by the window and half-drawn curtains. No one’s come by in the night because of Daryl so that must mean he made it through another night. Any night he gets through is a good sign even though Harlan doesn’t break out the champagne yet. Jesus knows Daryl can still succumb to the blood loss or an infection -- and that’s if he were determined to make it. He grabs his clothes and makes for the bathroom before he can entertain that thought further: what if Daryl gives up?

Shower and breakfast marginally lift his mood, but he wants to get back to Daryl as soon as possible. But he stops when he sees Maggie sit on the porch of the mansion, hands wrapped around a steaming mug and staring off into the distance.

“Hey,” Jesus says and sits down when Maggie scoots on the bench to make space. He owes her a few minutes.

Maggie answers with a thin smile. She looks better than the day before, not quite as ashen in the face. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Jesus sighs and lets his head fall back against the panels behind him.

“No need to,” Maggie says. “There’s been enough awkward condolences already.”

Jesus knows his people mean well trying to console Maggie and offer the same formulaic phrases people have been offering for centuries. At Hilltop they haven’t had many violent deaths, not since Rory at the hands of Negan’s cronies. But they haven’t been hunted through the woods like prey before, they haven’t been attacked by other groups and even their deaths through walker accident have been relatively low. How do you console someone who’s seen as much death as Maggie has? Who now has to bring a child into this bleak world. A child that was supposed to be a statement of new hope and new life.

“I feel like I brought you all into this mess,” Jesus mutters and accepts Maggie’s offering of her mug, taking a sip of herbal tea.

“Bullshit,” Maggie states and takes her mug back. “We already had a run-in with them before you showed up. They would have found Alexandria at some point, like they found Hilltop.”

Rationally, he knows Maggie is right. But his response to this whole disaster can hardly be called rational. He still feels like he let them run into an open knife.

“How’s Daryl?” Maggie then asks.

“Hard to say,” Jesus admits. “He’s made it so far which is a good sign, but the blood loss was substantial and he’s weak. If he doesn’t catch an infection he might regain full use of the shoulder, but that’s a long way off. He has to survive first.”

“Daryl always survives,” Maggie says.

“I’m not sure he wants to,” Jesus mutters and swallows past the lump in his throat. “He thinks it’s better if he dies. Says it’s all his fault with Glenn...and Denise.”

Jesus watched Rosita speak to Tara at the night of their arrival at Hilltop and if the body language was any indication -- how Tara crumbled and Rosita pulled her into her arms, sitting with her for hours -- she told her about Denise. It was painful to watch, particularly if he thought of that night in the van when Tara spoke about Denise.

Maggie looks incredulous. “He can’t be serious,” she says. “How is it his fault? He didn’t point the bat at Glenn. He didn’t shoot Denise either. What could he have done about either?”

“He thinks if he hadn’t gone out after that Dwight guy Glenn wouldn’t have come after him and gotten caught.”

“Of course it was stupid that Daryl went after that asshole, but that’s who Daryl is,” Maggie says. “He felt responsible, he felt he owed Denise who asked him to protect her and he couldn’t.”

Jesus has only heard bits and pieces of the story surrounding Dwight and even less of what happened with Denise. Daryl hasn’t said much about Dwight, but through the Alexandria rumour mill he was able to gather that Daryl ran into him and a woman in the woods when they were fleeing from Negan’s people. Daryl wanted to bring them into Alexandria, but the whole thing went south and ended up with Daryl losing his bike and crossbow to Dwight and yet Daryl chose not to kill him.

“Daryl thinks he shouldn’t have saved Dwight, but that’s not him,” Maggie whispers. “He’s not one to turn away if someone needs help.”

Jesus nods in agreement. 

“Someone else could have shot Denise just as easily that day. Just like Glenn still would have ended up in the line,” Maggie says and keeps her gaze fixed onto the contents of her mug. “If he hadn’t been out already, he’d have been in the RV with me. I want someone to blame – someone who isn’t Negan, someone who I can punch in the face and rage at, somewhere I can point my finger and say if you hadn’t done that one thing Glenn would still be here. I wanted to be angry at Rick because he made Negan come after us. But Rick didn’t order us to attack, he asked. I was the one negotiating that deal. Daryl was the one who came up with it. You gave us the information. And everyone else except Morgan agreed to it. We all miscalculated, and Glenn paid the price.”

This line of thought must have occupied Maggie’s mind the entire time she’s been awake. She speaks the words with exhaustion – a story you’ve gone over too many times and still can’t let go.

“And even then – the Saviors could have just shown up at Alexandria, make their demands, kill someone. And we wouldn’t have accepted that, we wouldn’t just have given them half and be done with it. We would have retaliated, and maybe it wouldn’t have been Glenn, but someone would have died and maybe more than one.”

Of course anyone else besides Glenn would have been easier to stomach for Maggie, but the others in Alexandria’s group are her family too.

“It’s all shit, no matter how you look at it,” Maggie mutters under her breath and sips some more tea.

“Maggie, if I can help you in any way…” Most of the people at Hilltop are strangers to Maggie and he’ll be a friend to her if she wants him to.

“Help me make this place good. Make it safe,” she says with a sudden fierceness. “I need my baby to have a chance, and the other kids, too. Carl, Enid, Judith -- they all deserve a future. Death can’t be all they grow up with.”

“I will,” Jesus says and places his hand on Maggie’s forearm, squeezing it lightly. Maggie has the fire in her to help this place thrive, more so than Gregory does. “Why Hilltop?” He wonders about that. Maggie has few ties to Hilltop, she’s been in contact with him and Harlan, some others to a lesser extent, but it would seem natural that she wants to do this for Alexandria, not Hilltop.

“Glenn and I...we thought about coming to live here,” Maggie says and she smiles, even if there’s sadness in her eyes. “Not just for a doctor, but we liked it. It reminded us of my dad’s farm. Glenn really wanted the baby to grow up here, so I’m honouring his last wish.”

“I’ll do what I can.” That much he too owes Glenn.

“Take care of Daryl first,” Maggie says and offers Jesus her mug again. He doesn’t know how aware Maggie is of what’s going on between him and Daryl. They haven’t gone through a cloak-and-dagger routine to hide, but someone will have drawn their conclusions from Jesus staying at Daryl’s house every night.

“If he’ll let me.” Jesus still isn’t sure if Daryl is willing to fight or just willing his body to stop fighting.

“I’ll talk to him,” Maggie gathers the blanket that has been thrown over her lap and balls it at her feet.

“Maggie, no,” Jesus tried to stop her, waving her mug until the tea sloshes over the rim and nearly scalds his thigh. “You should take care of yourself!” Honestly, what is he thinking, whining to a woman who recently experienced such a loss? 

“Daryl is like a brother to me,” Maggie says with resolve, her voice brooking no argument. “And even more so to Glenn. I’ll be damned if I’m letting anyone else in my family die.”

Jesus is fairly sure he’s providing a spot-on impression of a guppy as he stares after Maggie striding over to the medical trailer containing Daryl, tearing the door open and disappearing inside. Awkwardly, he gathers Maggie’s blanket and deposits it next to him on the bench. He sips the rest of Maggie’s tea in silence, wondering if and hoping that Maggie can manage what Jesus hasn’t so far -- awaken Daryl’s fighting spirit.

 

Maggie re-emerges nearly an hour later and Jesus gets up so fast he nearly tangles his feet in Maggie’s abandoned blanket. Once she gets closer, Jesus sees the tear tracks on her face and just about manages not to panic.

“Maggie, what–”

“You should go see him,” Maggie says and she breaks into a smile as she wipes her cheeks with her sleeves.

“What happened?” Jesus asks, letting Maggie pluck her now empty mug from Jesus’ hands.

Maggie keeps smiling, almost cryptically so. “You don’t need to know everything,” she says and there’s a teasing undertone to it. “What I can tell you is that I’ve threatened Daryl with the full extent of my wrath if he has the gall to die on me for some pseudo-noble cause.”

Well, that would put the fear of the gods into anyone’s heart.

“But he’ll need you,” Maggie asserts, sober and sombre. She breaks the unspoken rule wherein Daryl’s family acts as if they have no clue what Jesus and Daryl are to one another. While they’re still figuring that out themselves, Jesus is happy to have the breathing room. “It will be hard, it will be frustrating and you will sometimes want to shoot him because it’s Daryl. If you can’t do that, you’ll need to let him go now. Because Daryl is loyal to a fault and right now he needs someone to believe in.”

Jesus had the answer ready to fire straight away, but reeled himself in. Maggie’s words deserved consideration. 

“I know,” he finally says after a pause. Then he smiles. “Promise you take my gun away if he’s being really cranky.”

“That’s his default setting,” Maggie laughs softly.

“Yeah, but his arm will be in a sling for a long time,” Jesus says. “Consider that.”

“You made your bed, now lie in it,” Maggie commands and retreats back into the house with her mug, probably to get a refill.

 

Daryl seems to be asleep when Jesus slips back into the trailer some time later. It seemed appropriate to give him some time to digest his conversation with Maggie. There’s something on his face that might be tear tracks wiped away in haste, but all in all he looks calmer than before. Hopefully that’s not just his imagination talking.

“Come on, you prick,” Jesus whispers and traces his fingertips over Daryl’s knuckles. “Pull through. You can’t make me fall in love with you and then check out.”

Jesus thought Daryl has been fast asleep, so he jumps a little when Daryl suddenly laces his fingers with Jesus’. Well, crap, he hadn’t intended for Daryl to hear that last part. They haven’t exactly defined their feelings yet.

“That’s blackmail,” Daryl mutters and rubs small circles into Jesus hand with his thumb. 

“Well, you don’t get to leave now that I’ve told you,” Jesus chuckles and watches Daryl crack open an eye. “That would be rude, you know.”

“Ain’t rude,” Daryl says.

“Get better then and prove it,” Jesus challenges and smiles.

Daryl yawns, eyes drooping again. “On it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'The Day The World Went Away' by Nine Inch Nails


End file.
